fh_alumni | December 2009 - Memphis, Tennessee

[[Set weeks after the last post.]]

The metal plaque was cold in his hands and he rubbed his thumb over the words that were pressed into it, recognising every letter by their shape. It was hard now to remember the joy of a few weeks ago when the Ori troops left Earth, taking their new believers with them in their ships. It felt like humankind had won while in truth, they lost it all. Each and every thing. Every one.

"You look awful."

"Sure, pick on the guy who's been bringing you food."

"You can eat it yourself, that garbage tastes disgusting."

"You can cook tomorrow when you're feeling better."

"Cam, I don't..."

"Shut up, Ferguson. Get some sleep."

At first, they all thought it was just another flu. Being sick was almost normal now, but it spread so fast and soonthe clinic had become too small for its patients. A week later, the plague claimed its first victim. The few doctors that had survived the Ori were powerless. None of them had never seen anything like this and even if they had still their equipment, it wouldn't have changed a thing. Even if he'd remembered sooner how Janet had given him a vaccine against a virus developed by the Ori two years - Three? He was losing track of time, - it was already too late. Fischer and him were the only ones who didn't seem to be infected.

"I guess you weren't lying about that island."

"I told you."

"Maybe I should have gone too. Meet some alien chicks. Get a vaccine..."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't."

"I..."

"Promise me something."

"What?"

"Get out of here alive."

After two weeks, Fischer and him had buried half of the patients at the clinic. It went faster from then on. His arms were sore from digging, but they deserved a grave at least. Ferguson died in the third week. Cameron hadn't even been there. They couldn't keep up any longer.

"Did you know him long?"

"Since high school."

"It's my fault."

"It's the Ori's fault, Fischer."

"No, I figured it out. Why I'm not getting sick. I'm the carrier. It's my fault."

"You didn't ask for this any more than any of us did."

"It's still my fault."

"When it's over, we'll go East. Maybe I'll be able to find the island now."

"I'm not coming."

"Fischer..."

"I'm still carrying it, Mitchell. If your island's real... I'm not doing this again."

"They could help. It's where I got my vaccine. Maybe..."

"I've always wanted to go to Alaska. Seen plenty of desert in my life. I like the cold."

"You-"

"It's alright, Mitchell. It's how it should be."

Only nothing was as it should be. No world should be this quiet. This dead. In a way, being stuck at the clinic and dealing with what was happening there was almost easy. It allowed him to pretend that this illness wasn't elsewhere. Fischer and him parted ways after they buried the last one. Fischer headed North, Cameron took one of the few still working SUVs and drove South East. It was then that he fully understood what his world had been turned in to. Houses stood empty. Either abandoned or turned into silent graves. The headstones of a civilisation.

His hand closed around the dogtag, the edges digging into his palm until it drew blood. Even pain couldn't make him cry as all there was left was hollowness. Three crosses now stood in the middle of the Mitchell's lawn. Three bodies buried in the dark earth of what was once their garden. His own dogtags were wrapped around the smaller cross, the one that had been there when he arrived. His sister must have died before his parents and he wished he could have spared them that pain.

There was a soft whine and Ray pressed himself against Cameron's leg, shivering as the flames reached the roof of their house. He'd found the dog, half starved watching over his parents bodies and he wondered if he should be grateful for at least that much. It was hard to be grateful when you watched the last part of your life disappear in flames.

[[Been a long time coming. NFI, obviously but OOC are will so be loved.]]